Pokemon Brutal: Battle at the Mordhaus Gym!
by Lassroyale
Summary: Charles Offdensen is the Gym Leader of Mordhaus Gym, the most brutal gym in all of Sinnoh. He and his special team of pokemon - known as the Dethklok Five - are undefeated, though that doesn't seem to stop hopeful trainers from trying.
1. Chapter 1

**-VVV-**

The instant that Melmord Fjordslorn stepped into Mordhhaus Gym, Charles knew two things: 1) he was a pokemon trainer, and, 2) he disliked him. Immensely.

Perhaps it was Melmord's perpetually rumpled and laid back, '_I'm-so-cool-and-I-just-don't-care'_ appearance (in distinct contrast to his own crisp-yet-functional attire) that he didn't care for. It could have been the smarmy aura that clung to the man like overpowering - and cheap - cologne. It might also have been the manner in which Melmord eyed everything inside of Mordhaus Gym like it would someday be his.

While those were all very good and logical reasons to dislike Melmord, the _real_ reason that Charles had an instant dislike for the man was quite simple: he absolutely did not trust the greedy, hungry look that crossed Melmord's expression the minute he laid eyes on his Nathantyphlosian.

Melmord immediately tried to capture the Nathantyphlosion's photo and information with his PokeDex - a task none had ever managed under Charles' watch. Before Charles could even give a crisp snap of his fingers, a long and angry howl of '_NOOOOOOathantyphlosian!_ ' erupted from the hulking pokemon, momentarily drowning out all other noise. A second later the agitated Nathantyphlosion moved behind Charles with a surly grumbling sort of growl, and, past the occasional chuff of irritation, hovered quietly.

Charles narrowed his eyes briefly, his gaze instantly much cooler, much sharper, and decidedly less friendly. He snapped his fingers. Immediately, a nearby member of Team Klokateer rushed over and knocked the Melmord's PokeDex out of his hands and to the floor. Ignoring Melmord's sputters of protest, the Klockateer proceeded to stomp on the PokeDex until it was little more than a jumble of wires on the floor in a thoroughly smashed, red casing.

"You must never take pictures of his Lordship's Nathantyphlosian!" the Klokateer yelled, rounding on Melmord with a raised fist. If left to his own devices, the Klokateer would gladly have stomped on Melmord's face until he too was throroughly smashed on the floor. Charles - unfortunately - had to stop him.

"That's enough #474!" he snapped. #474 immediately stepped back and went to stand with the rest of Team Klockateer, or at least those who had gathered along the outer edges of the room to ensure that there were no more transgressions against their masters. Charles ignored Melmord for a minute, turning instead to smooth a hand over his Nathantyphlosian's cascading mane in a placating manner.

Though the Nathantyphlosian towered over Charles, it pushed its nose gently against its trainer's shoulder and rumbled out a petulant, albeit slightly calmer, "_Nathaaaan..._" Thus satisfied that the huge pokemon wasn't going to throw a temper tantrum anytime soon (He was silently thankful for that - last time the Nathantyphlosian had worked itself into a screaming tantrum, several of the Klokateers and one of Charles' good lamps had been completely incinerated.) Charles finally addressed Melmord.

"I believe it was stressed to you, that on entering the gym taking photos or information captures of any of The Dethkok Five is expressly forbidden." He sniffed and adjusted his glasses. "Unauthorized photos of the pokemon fall into the category of _illegal merchandise_, and that is a punishable offense." Charles snapped his fingers and one of the Klockateers rushed up and gave him a soft, stuffed, bird-shaped object. It was all black and had what appeared to be a mustache sewn onto its beak. It also bore a scowling, generally pissed off expression. Charles handed it to Melmord, who accepted it with an annoying simper. "Our gift shop sells its own line of Dethklok merchandise. Unfortunately, the only plushy dolls we have left in stock right now are the Murkrowderface dolls." Charles offered the other man a thin smile. "Consider that one a, ah, a gift on the house."

Melmord turned the doll over in his hands, stared at it for a moment, and then casually tossed it to one side. Charles narrowed his eyes. "I think," said Melmord, "that I would prefer the real thing." He pointed a finger at Charles as he rather dramatically announced: "Charles Offdensen, I challenge you to a pokemon battle! "

Charles arched an eyebrow at the other man's melodramatic announcement, and pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly. "I suppose you're looking to earn a gym badge?" he asked, his voice brushed with quiet disdain. To that, Melmord just grinned smugly.

"Nope, I don't want a gym badge," he sneered. "I'm not an 11 year old kid."

"Then _what_?" asked Charles, his voice devoid of warmth. Again, Melmord glanced at the Nathantyphlosian hovering behind Charles.

"Your team," said Melmord simply, returning his gaze to Charles'. "I know I can manage The Dethklok Five better than you ever have." He smiled another oily smile.

Charles smoothed his fingers over his tie. "Well that's a problem," he stated, "because the only way I'll be separated from the Dethklok Five is if I'm dead."

Melmord shrugged. "That can be arranged."

"So be it," said Charles. He brushed past Melmord and gestured for the Klokateers to go ahead of them and set up the battle arena on the rooftop. The Nathantyphlosian followed behind him, gnarling out a rumbly, '_Nathaaaantyphlosian_.' Charles glanced at the huge pokemon and offered a wan smile. "For the record," he muttered, "I tried."

"Let's get this over with," Charles said, as he faced off against Melmord. "There's a ton of paperwork that's piling up because of this."

Between them, the battlefield stretched. The floor was black, made up of onyx and scattered with volcanic ash, lending the air a sulfuric smell. Here and there metal spires twisted up from the ground and stabbed up towards the sky, as if reaching for the clouds floating above. The battlefield itself was raised up and it sloped off on each side into fiery trenches that blazed 24/7. (The turnover rate for the Team Klokateer members who kept the fires stoked was very high, considering the ferocity of the pokebattles that occurred on the field. The last one who had died, #76, had caught a stray lightening bolt to the chest when Picklachu had drunkenly mistaken him for an enemy pokemon, even though the battle had been over for hours.)

"Let's do this," sneered Melmord, drawing five pokeballs from his belt. He threw them out one by one, calling out the pokemon's names as he did so. "Go Regirockso!" he yelled as he tossed out the first ball.

There was a flash and the pokemon appeared. Charles wrinkled his nose. The pokemon was bright green, had a body made of some unidentifiable type of rock, a mane of wild blue hair, and a bright red, spiky round nose. The pokemon snuffled around for a moment as if looking for something on the ground, then roared, '_Regirockk-ka-ka-so!'_

"Go Setheasel! Go Lavonatone!" shouted Melmord, tossing out two more pokeballs at the same time.

The Setheasel looked, well, much like a giant weasel, with beady little eyes, a gotee, and slicked back fur. It thumped its weasily tail and looked around furtively as it cleaned its whiskers. The Lavonatone was made of rock and was very pale with big, crazy-looking eyes. It immediately took note of the Nathantyphlosian and batted its lashes and tossed its black mane. '_Lavonaaatone!_,' it called.

To Charles' relief, the Nathantyphlosian only answered with a surly growl, and looked around the field with disinterest. Melmord threw out his last two pokeballs. "Go for it, Jomfrumbreon and Cornicklitung!"

The last two pokemon burst from their pokeballs. The first was fat and squat with a lower body made of metal, and it issued a nasally, '_Jomfrumbreeeon!_' from its small mouth. The last pokemon sort of had the same weaselly look as the Setheasel, but it had a long, sticky looking tongue that it lashed out towards the Nathantyphlosian with a condescending cry of, '_Corniiicklitung!_.'

"Whaddaya think?" asked Melmord, with a insufferably superior expression that Charles chose to ignore. "Not half bad, eh?" The other trainer folded his arms across his chest. "It took me a long time to assemble the pokemon worthy enough to fight your team, but I won't be satisfied until The Dethklok Five are mine."

"Well," said Charles in a perfectly neutral tone, "let's see how they stack up." He began throwing out the four pokeballs strapped to his belt, one by one. He didn't call them by name; he didn't need to.

The first pokemon materialized on the field next to the Nathantyphlosian in a blinding display of metal. It was tall and lean and looked like a lethal sort of bird encased in a gleaming metallic armor. It gave the enemy pokemon a contemptuous glare from ice-blue eyes and flipped back its beautiful golden mane, before drawling out a bored, '_Skwisgaarmory_.' It then proceeded to turn away and absently flex its metal feathers in blurring display of agility.

The next pokemon burst forth with a cheerful cry of, '_Toki-piiiiiiii!_' It ran around in happy little circles, it long brown hair streaming behind it as it pumped its little legs merrily. At one point it bumped into the Skwisgaarmory and fell down onto its shelled rear and a little pout. The other pokemon eyed it with feigned disdain for a minute, before helping it up with an affectionate, though mocking squawk. The Tokipi hugged the Skwissgarmory's leg and the metallic pokemon allowed it only briefly, before shoving the smaller one off with a snap of its beak.

The third pokemon appeared stumbling onto the field with a little hiccup and a slurred offer of, '_Pick-_hic-_lachuuu._'. It swept the red dreadlocks from its eyes and blinked blearily at the other pokemon, before looking towards its own teammates with a question of: '_Pickla, picklachu?_

The Tokipi chirruped out an affirmative, '_Tokipi!_' The Picklachu just frowned and took a swig from the bottle of hard liquor in its hand.

The final pokemon materialized in a flurry of black feathers and a pissed off, angry scream of: _Murkrowderfasche!_ It scowled and frowned and kicked dirt at both rival pokemon and its own team members, before settling down next to the Picklachu with a spiteful expression. It folded its wings in front of its chest, further signalling its displeasure.

Charles eyed his team critically, and made a note to put the Murkrowderface on a diet - it was getting awfully fat. "Well, shall we?" he asked, without really asking at all. Then he shouted, "Boys, use the Thunderhorse formation!"


	2. Chapter 2

**-VVV-**

The pokemon took position, with the Nathantyphlosian at the front and center and the Mukrowderface to its right. The Skwisgaarmory and Tokipi flanked its left after short scuffle for position, which ended when the metallic pokemon bullied the smaller Tokipi back and a little behind it with a few patronizing screeches. To Charles' immense relief, the Tokipi only pouted at the Skwisgaarmory and made faces at it when the other pokemon's back was turned. The Picklachu brought up the rear, a gleam of something close to unadulterated hatred entering its green eyes when it caught sight of the Setheasel across the field.

Charles pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Nathantyphlosian, use your _Face Fisted_ attack on the Cornicklitung!"

The Nathantyphlosian sprung forward, and, before the Cornicklitung had time to react, crashed its massive paw into the other pokemon's face. The Cornicklitung stumbled back with a shrill cry of pain and outrage. Melmord narrowed his eyes and called the long-tongued pokemon back to its pokeball, when it teetered and then passed out.

"Lavonatone, counter with _Loin Extractor_!" he shouted. The Lavonatone dashed towards the Nathantyphlosian and screeched, '_Lavoooona, lavonatone_!" as it shot out a pair of what appeared to be electrified barbs towards it.

"Murkrowderface," snapped Charles immediately, "intervene with your _Planet Piss_ defense."

The Murkrowderface shot Charles a nasty look, but nevertheless flapped forward and threw itself into the path of the Lavonatone's attack. It cawed out a nasty, '_Mur-krow-der-fasche_!' and spread its wings and feet wide. Darkness swirled around it for a moment, and what appeared to be a jewel encrusted and metal codpiece formed around its lower half. Before it could do anything else, however, the Lavonatone's electrified barbs slammed into it and latched onto the codpiece. There was a bright flash, and then an explosion.

The Skwisgaarmory shielded the Tokipi with one metal wing; Charles threw an arm up in front of his face, just as the Nathantyphlosian rushed back towards him and used its considerable bulk to protect him from a piece of battlefield that had been torn up and thrown towards him by the force of the blast. The Picklachu didn't flinch, its intensely malevolent focus never leaving the Setheasel.

When the air had cleared, Charles saw that one of the metal spires on the battlefield had broken off and impaled a Klokateer beneath it. Both the Lavonatone and Murkrowderface had been thrown to opposite ends of the field. The Lavonatone was unconscious. The Murkrowderface was clearly addled: it began to lurch back towards its teammates in fits and starts.

Melmord didn't hesitate to press the advantage. He called the Lavonatone back to its pokeball, while at the same time shouting: "Setheasel, finish off the Murkrowderface - use _Goldigger_!"

Quick as a flash, the Setheasel made a beeline for the Murkrowderface in a zigzag pattern. Before it could reach the woozy pokemon, however, the Piklachu broke rank without Charles commanding it to. It barreled towards the Setheasel at a dead run, dodging jagged cracks in the torn up field with the strange grace of the permanently inebriated. As it drew nearer to the Setheasel, electricity began to crackle around its body, sparking from the tip of its nose to the end of its tail. The electrical currents skipped along the ends of its yellow fur, building in intensity as the Picklachu picked up speed.

The Setheasel whirled with a sneer, but too late tried to dodge the Piklachu. The electrified pokemon slammed into the Setheasel with its _Bloodrocuted_ attack and a howled challenge of, '_PIKLAAAAAAAAAAAACHU_!'

The Setheasel screeched as it was hit with thousands of volts of electricity, but it managed to absorb much of the shock as it quickly secreted clear ooze from its pores, rendering the Picklachu's _Bloodrocuted_ attack not very effective. The slime slicked its fur giving it a somewhat greasy appearance, like it had used too much hair gel. Charles wrinkled his nose in disgust; the Piklachu made an enraged sound and twisted away from the Setheasel when the toxic ooze began to burn it. The weasel-like pokemon cried out a pleased, '_Setheeeaaaaasel_' and tackled the Picklachu to the ground. The two pokemon rolled around in a furious bundle of claws, teeth, fur, and bursts of electricity.

Charles clenched his jaw; across the field Melmord wore a pleased-as-pie expression that didn't sit well with him at all. A minute later, he understood why.

While the Picklachu and Setheasel scuffled violently, Melmord had commanded the Jomfrumbreon forward. The dark pokemon was standing a little off to one side of the field; its body was stiff and straight, and not even its wheeled hindquarters quivered. Its red eyes glowed deeply and ominously, and it stared at the Tokipi with a look of intense concentration.

"Tokipi, don't!" shouted Charles, but his warning came a moment too late. The Tokipi, caught in the throes of the Jomfrumbreon's psychic attack, began to run across to the other side of the field all the while merrily chirruping: '_Toki Toki_!' It had no clue what was happening, firmly in the dark pokemon's mental grasp.

"Now, Regirockso," yelled Melmord, the glint in his eye bright and malevolent, "stomp the Tokipi with your _Cocaine Crush_!"

The Regirockso lumbered forward slowly, gnarling out a rumbling, '_Regirock-ka-ka-kaso_!'. It paused and turned when Melmord tossed a bag of something white and powdery onto the ground in front of its feet. Immediately, the Regirockso perked up. It bent and dumped the bag of white powder onto the ground. Charles watched coolly as the large pokemon snorted up all of the powder in one long rail. Thus invigorated, the Regirockso began to move with haste towards the smaller pokemon, its large fists poised to pummel the little Tokipi into the ground.

Charles turned to order the Skwisgaarmory to intervene, but the metallic pokemon was already moving. It squawked angrily at the Regirockso, its blue eyes condescending and as frigid as ice chips. The fires blazing on either side of the arena cast the Skwisgaarmory's metallic body into a red-orange glow as it shot towards the Regirockso, which by then had gained momentum and was nearly to the Tokipi.

"No!" snapped Charles, his voice clear and sharp as it rang out across the battlefield. "Skwisgaarmory, use _Comet Song_ on the Jomfrumbreon!"

The Skwisgaarmory hesitated for the space of a breath, but listened to its trainer's command. It broke off from its path towards the Regirockso and grinded to a halt, squawking savagely at the blue-haired pokemon as it continued to bear down on the Tokipi. Then, still venting its rage in long, disdainful cries of, '_Skwisgaarrrrmory_!', it began to flex its feathers along the fringe of each wing quickly. Wind swirled around it as it continued to bend and twist its metal feathers, the movements becoming too quick for the naked eye to follow as its dexterity reached blinding speeds. The Skwisgaarmory rose into the air; the sky darkened around it.

The winds whipped into a tornado-fury, tearing up chunks of the battlefield in the process. Gravel and pieces of black rock flew haphazardly around the arena, taking out more spires and more Klokateers who'd been lingering near the edge of the field. (Charles sighed; he'd have to run some more Team Klokateer recruitment ads to make up for the casualties that they'd had in the last hour or so.) When the wind seemed to reach a crescendo, the Skwisgaarmory loosed a long, piercing shriek, and a bolt of lightening streaked down from clouds gathered above its head and struck the Jomfrumbreon where it stood.

The grey pokemon was knocked back violently. It skidded along the ground and came to a stop at Melmord's feet; its fur was singed and it was out cold. Melmord called it back into its pokeball with a hateful glare at Charles.

The Skwisgaarmory descended to the ground; above it, the sky cleared. It breathed heavily, having used a lot of its energy to unleash the powerful _Comet Song_ attack. Melmord saw an opening, his lip curling cruelly around the joint in his mouth. "Regirockso, break off from the Tokipi and concentrate on the Skwissgarmory while it's weak," he yelled. "Use _Razzle Dazzle_!"

The Regirockso abruptly changed its course and turned towards the Skwisgaarmory. It issued a lilting call and clapped its hands together, sending a shockingly bright wave of rainbow colored energy towards the tired pokemon. The multi-colored beam caught the Skwisgaarmory directly in the chest, picking it up off its feet and slamming it back down and into the ground.

Melmord stepped forward eagerly and pointed to the Skwissgarmory. "Finish it off with your _Clown Clobber_!"

The Regirockso complied immediately. It stooped and seemed to gather itself, and then, with a burst of unexpected speed, rushed the Skwisgaarmory. The metal pokemon tried to get up and move out of the way, but it was too dazed and injured. It managed to gain its feet for a moment, before falling heavily onto its side with a soft whoosh of air and the clang of metal feathers. It glared balefully at the Regirockso as it loomed over it, exuding a superior and arrogant aura even as beaten down and injured as it was.

Charles began to command the Nathantyphlosian forward, when a trilling sound cut through the noise of the battlefield. Even the Setheasel and Piklachu ceased their scuffling long enough to identify the source of the trilling. A moment later, all eyes landed on the Tokipi standing in the middle of the field. Its little face was scrunched up in fury: Charles held his breath in quiet anticipation, while across the field, Melmord furrowed his brow in confusion.

"What's your Tokipi doing, Offdensen?" shot the other trainer mockingly, though a hint of uncertainty managed to creep into his cocky tone.

Charles smiled thinly at the other man and casually called the Murkrowderface back into its pokeball, when it staggered up and plopped down at his feet. "I think your Regirockso made my Tokipi very, very upset," he replied in a mostly colorless tone – a hint of smugness chased the edges of his words. "The last time I saw it this angry was when another pokemon destroyed its Deddy Bear – I assure you it wasn't a pretty sight."

Melmord scoffed, but shifted nervously. Charles saw that the trainer's shoulders were tense; inwardly, he smiled with satisfaction. Meanwhile, the Tokipi began to wave its short arms from side to side rhythmically, like the pendulum on a metronome. It chanted to the beat, warbling calls of '_Tok-I-pi, Tok-I-pi_' rising and falling in a deceivingly soothing lullaby.

The Setheasel and Piklachu stopped fighting altogether, drawn in by the Tokipi's mesmerizing song. Both began to sway to the metrical rise and fall of its voice; next to Charles, the Nathantyphlosian began to sway also. He placed a hand on its shoulder and steadied it, and the hulking pokemon ceased rocking on its feet. It let out a low, grateful chuff, though more or less remained stolidly focused on the little Tokipi standing in the middle of the arena.

Neither Charles nor Melmord were watching the Tokipi at all – they were paying close attention to the Regirockso. The huge pokemon seemed to have forgotten about the Skwisgaarmory entirely, and instead was stopped dead in its tracks, held in thrall by the Tokipi's spellbinding melody. It lurched almost drunkenly back and forth on its big rocky feet, eyes fixed firmly on the small pokemon singing in front of it.

All at once, the Tokipi stopped its melody and the air became unnaturally still. Casually, Charles dropped a hand to his belt and readied a pokeball. The Tokipi shuffled forward a step and then, without warning, blinked out of existence

The Regirockso went with it.

"What the fuck?!" screamed Melmord, looking around frantically for the massive pokemon. Pokemon the size of the Regirockso just didn't _disappear_. Charles ignored him and quickly threw out his pokeball, calling the wounded Skwisgaarmory back to safety.

Seconds later, the air crackled high above the battlefield and the Regirockso and Tokipi popped back into existence. There was a moment where both pokemon seemed to hang in the air, weightless, before they started plummeting towards the earth in a complete freefall. Charles couldn't fully tamp down the swell of pride that he felt: his Tokipi had finally managed to pull off the advanced _Hatredcopter_ move, all on its own. Still, there were more urgent matters to attend to, like the fact that the Tokipi was dropping like a stone through the air, arms flailing, not having completely mastered how to teleport from midair back to the safety of the ground.

"Picklachu, Nathantyphlosian," Charles said, "use _Dethsupport_ to help Tokipi!"

Immediately, Picklachu turned and, for all intensive purposes, bitch-slapped the Setheasel who had been watching the Regirockso and Tokipi plunge towards the battle-scarred arena and not paying attention. The Setheasel went down with a startled, "_Seth?!_" The Picklachu took off sprinting towards where the Tokipi was falling to the earth.

The Nathantyphlosian met the yellow pokemon halfway there, and without decreasing its speed, the Picklachu spring-boarded off of its teammate and was tossed high into the air. It caught the Tokipi out of its freefall and curled them both into a tight ball. Both plunged back down, but were safely caught by the Nathantyphlosian.

The Tokipi giggled. The Piklachu looked like it needed a drink. The Nathantyphlosian growled threateningly at Melmord who had stepped forward to call back the Setheasel, as well as the Regirockso which had crashed into the battlefield with a thunderous _CRUNCH!_ Melmord looked pissed, that slick veneer of casual nonchalance cracking with each step he took towards Charles.

"Looks like we're just going to have to do this the old fashioned way," hissed Melmord. He pulled something off of his pokebelt and pressed a button. Instantly, a blade sprang from the simple handle, revealing it to be an unfolding rapier. Charles eyed the sword with obvious disdain. He sighed and gestured towards one of the Klokateers, who tossed him his own fencing sword. He caught it with one hand and looked to Melmord with the barest quirk of his eyebrow.

"Let's do this then," he said.


	3. Epilogue

**-VVV-**

#474 hated yard wolf duty, mostly because it came with its own intrinsic set of hazards – mainly that the yard wolves were liable to eat the hand that fed them and were in fact notorious for doing so. Today however, the wolves were well sated on bits of former pokemon trainer Melmord Fjordslorn that had splattered onto the gravel, after he'd been tossed over the edge of the highest tower of Mordhaus Gym by their Master Offdensen. He rolled his eyes beneath his hood as #216 strolled by him whistling contentedly, wearing the Murkrowderface's codpiece proudly around his lower regions. (The codpiece was won in a raffle drawing, but #216 paraded it around like it had been personally gifted to him by the pokemon.)

#474 was carefully toeing aside a piece of finger that one of the yard wolves had slobbered all over and nearly choked on, when a hand came down on his shoulder, firm and hard.

"#474," came the brisk, business-like tone of their Lord and unbeaten gym leader, Charles Offdensen. "Make sure that you ah, that you get up all of the little bits of fingers and toes. The yard wolves love them but they don't digest them well."

#474 nodded and snapped off a quick, "Yes m'lord." Secretly, he was thrilled to have been spoken to directly by his Lord twice in one day – the man was always working. If it wasn't for the fact that he had to constantly take time out to mitigate the often-catastrophic events that seemed to occur around the Dethklok Five (not to mention deal with the occasional foolish pokemon trainer looking to make a name for themselves) the members of Team Klokateer might never see him.

"Good, thank you."

#474 stepped aside as his Lord walked off, the Nathantyphlosian a hulking shadow following in his footsteps. The Murkrowderface scowled at him as it flapped by, spitting out a nasty sounding, '_Murkrooowderfasche_' as it hurried to catch up with its trainer and teammate. The Picklachu staggered by him next, hiccuping and drinking from a bottle of something that smelled a lot like vodka. It threw up a little on #474's shoes, but he didn't mind. Lastly came the Skwisgaarmory and the Tokipi, bickering to one another affectionately. The Tokipi ran happily in and out of the Skwisgaarmory's legs, and for once the Skwisgaarmory was allowing the small pokemon to stay close to it, only snapping at it now and then to reaffirm its supposed dominance.

Still, it glared arrogantly at #474 as it neared, ushering the Tokipi past with a flourish of one gleaming metal wing. The Tokipi paused to briefly hug #474's leg as it was marshaled by; the Skwisgaarmory issued a displeased squawk.

When later a yard wolf bit off three of #474's fingers, he remembered that it was moments like that that made a Klokateer's job all worth it.

(The End.)


End file.
